The Road Not Taken
by knifethrower11
Summary: With the revolution prevented, Katniss and Peeta were never reaped for the Quarter Quell. Instead, they were forced to follow the life Snow originally planned for them after they won. A snapshot of what would've happened, had Katniss and Peeta had to uphold the Star Crossed Lover's act. Everlark.


_**The Marriage**_

Seventeen is too young to be married. But, staring down at the delicately carved golden band wrapping around my ring finger, I know there was never any other option. Snow made his intentions clear when he came to me before the Victory Tour and threatened my family, my only friend. When he threatened Peeta.

A life without him would be unbearable, even with the forced marriage that has been thrust upon us, because he, despite everything, has been my anchor through all of this. Even after I turned him away with my confession after the games, he's been unfailingly loyal and gentle with me, as though my heart were a fragile glass piece entrusted to him, and only him. Not once has he let it break.

It is with Peeta in mind, how supportive and gentle he's been through all of this, that I force myself from the bathroom and back into the dimly lit honeymoon suite- a wedding gift from the President himself. This wasn't Peeta's choice either, and in these last few months I've learned to stop holding this against him, as though he were an accomplice in the ruining of my life. He sits, suit jacket slung carelessly over the back of a comfy chair, tie loosely done in the collar of his shirt, flipping through channels on the wide Capital television.

He stands when he notices me, standing uncomfortably in another gift from Snow- a nightgown that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. "Hey," he murmurs, clicking the TV off. I know it's because all they were showing was footage of our matrimony- the ceremony and the reception included. "How are you?" I can see the concern on his kind blue eyes as he glances worriedly from my provided nightwear to my crossed arms- strategically placed over my chest.

"Fine," I mutter shortly, though before I can return to question he's striding over to his own closet and pulling out his T-shirt, offering it up to me. "Thank you," I say, taking it delicately with the tip of my fingertips. Wearing his shirts to bed became routine on the Victory Tour, the smell of him helped keep me grounded during my nightmares, but as I shove this particular article over my head I notice that it smells like the Capital- not the cinnamon and dill I've become so comfortable with.

It also feels tighter, as though it would hug his muscles snugly, leading me to believe that this too is a product of Snow. It's better than just the nightgown, though, and I accept it gratefully. Besides, his chest is broad enough that it's still very loose on me. I know this means Peeta will be without a shirt, and despite everything, I feel myself flush slightly at the thought. Even though this isn't my first choice of living, I can't help but be attracted to Peeta beyond simple companionship. It would be impossible to deny the small prick of jealousy I feel every time the girls swoon over him as we make our various appearances in the Capital. I always make sure to kiss him more often then, cling tighter to his hand- foolish as it sounds, considering I've always adamantly denied any feelings for him.

Shaking the thought away, I turn back to Peeta. Now that I'm suitably covered up, I feel more comfortable here, knowing that nothing will be forced upon me tonight, even though Snow's obviously not so subtly hinting at his newest demand.

Peeta grasps his tie, even after all the practice, still struggling to loosen it properly from his own neck. Reaching forward, I gently pry his hands away and undo it myself, sliding it from the collar of his white button up shirt, and discard it on the floor. His face has darkened to a shade not too different from a rose, and he visibly swallows. "Uh, thank you," he sputters, scratching the back of his neck.

"No problem," I tell him, before turning around to rid the bed of some of its gaudy extra pillows. The large, king sized, four poster bed seems made for one thing and one thing only, but I ignore this and set about shoving the crimson comforter to the foot of the mattress.

"Umm, Katniss?" Peeta's tentative voice calls to me from the other side of the room. I look up to find he's changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants, but that his dress shirt is still on. This is somewhat odd, for Peeta usually sleeps shirtless anyway, and it's not until I see him grappling with the back of his shirt that I realize he needs some help.

"What is it?"

He blushes slightly, pointing to the buttons on the front of the shirt. "When Portia made the shirt, Snow wanted a specific kind of button, made of some special material. If they unbuttoned normally, she said they wouldn't look as good, because they stretched the fabric when they were undone. So she put the real buttons on the back, and the ones Snow wanted on the front."

It takes a moment for me to process, before I realize he needs help undoing the shirt because he can't reach the back. I blush slightly, before striding over to deftly undo the plastic, almost transparent, buttons on the back of his shirt. The tension is palpable between us, and I know some of it comes from his embarrassment. "Does she always make a habit of putting buttons in odd places?" I ask, and Peeta laughs almost involuntarily.

"No, and I hope it stays that way."

I snicker, bending slightly to get the last button, which is situated snugly just above his pants. When I'm finished, I step away quickly, heading over the bed and shoving myself under the covers. The lights flicker out, and Peeta joins me a moments lighter, wrapping his arms comfortingly around me.

"Stay with me, alright?" I ask, the childish feeling that Peeta will somehow disappear if I don't hold him tight enough overwhelming me. Maybe it's because Snow's looming threat still hangs over us at any moment, reminding me even when I manage to forget, that he can take Peeta from me whenever he wants. Or maybe it's because I've lost so many people, that losing another- one so vital to me- would be something I could never come back from. Not ever. Either way, I clutch his forearms with all my strength until his voice breaches the darkness.

"Always."

_**The Demand**_

"You both new this day would come."

It's true, we did. But surely not so soon, so young. We're only twenty. They can't want this when we're only twenty, can they? I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised, not anymore, after all the things we've been forced to do. Still, this seems even more unreasonable than all the other requests, if only because we're so young. Every day we adapt more and more to living as a married couple- in and out of public eye, though they come with a different set of expectations respectively.

We've even reached a relative normality, only to be blindsided with this in our own living room.

Peeta, who's been silent throughout the whole ordeal, though his grip tightened painfully on my hand as Snow talked, chokes out, "A… a baby?"

The president rolls his eyes, and it would be an almost humorous expression on his face if I weren't so terrified. My free hand has instinctively curls protectively around my currently empty stomach, as though I could protect myself by sheer will. Of course, there is nothing that can stop this- not will or machine gun. We're trapped, useless to prevent the prying of the Capital under Snow's tight demands.

"A baby," Snow confirms. "And this won't be the only one, though I'll come back when I want to next one- too many at one time may put Mrs. Mellark out of her peak physical shape for good, and we wouldn't want that."

I swallow the bile back down my throat and glance at Peeta, who is seething with barely contained rage. Still, I seem to be clear headed enough, and settle for asking the only thing I can manage. "Is that the only thing you came to discuss?" Even with my best efforts, I cannot manage to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Snow nods, bidding us a 'pleasant evening'. Before he can get too far, Peeta springs from the seat and catches up to his security team. "How long do we have?" He croaks, his voice hoarse from tears and rage.

Snow smiles, a slimy, greasy smile, before replying, "I hope the share the news with my citizens in no more than three months' time."

Three months. That's all we have. Three agonizing months. I hope desperately that it will be enough.

"The sooner the better." Snow says, and then he's gone, out the door as if he'd never been here at all. As soon as he's out the door my knee's buckle of their own accord, and I hit the floor hard with tears already leaking out. Any baby of ours will be doomed to games, to a reaping bowl filled with only their name. I clutch my stomach tightly, sobs shaking my whole body in relentless tremors.

Peeta is at me in a flash, sinking onto the floor and pulling me into his lap, arms wound tightly around me, as though he could conceal me from the world. I feel his tears against my neck as he clings to me, sobs of his own wracking through him again and again.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, sounding more heartbroken than I've ever heard him, and it in turn breaks my own heart.

All I can think to say is, "Stay with me, Peeta. Please."

He sobs harder. "Always."

_**The Announcement**_

My eyes open to the dim morning light filtering through the white curtains of our bedroom. Instinctively, my hand reaches out seeking Peeta. I find his hand somewhere among the silky sheets, and gently twine my fingers with his. The gentle squeeze I usually receive is nowhere to be found right now, as he's still sleeping soundly.

I lean over to press a kiss to his forehead, which looks so young smoothed out and lacking worried creases, before slipping from bed and heading to the bathroom. Grabbing a small cardboard box from the cabinet above the sink, I begin.

The following ten minutes are agonizing, but I wait it out, like every week. It's been almost two and a half months since Snow's impromptu visit. Thus far, we've been unsuccessful, though are days are almost entirely consumed by the one act.

It gets exhausting, but the threat hanging over us, getting closer with every passing day, is enough the spike our adrenaline. When I finally have waited long enough, I peer into the bathroom cautiously, almost as though a mutt were going to jump out at me. Nothing's there but the little plastic sticks.

As soon as I glance at them my heart sinks like a rock to the bottom of my chest. Just like that, the fate of another human being has now been crushed by my hands. Before I can stop myself, I'm leaning over the toilet, retching violently into it. Peeta must here it from where he sleeps, because I feel his soothing hands gently pushing back the sweaty hair, saving it from the vomit. He pulls a hair tie from the countertop and carefully pulls it into a pony tail.

When my stomach has settled enough, Peeta flushes the toilet and gathers me into his arms, rocking us back and forth on the cool tile floor. "What is it, baby?" He coos, in a special voice reserved for my weakest moments. It's not often that he uses a pet name for me, though I know he likes to. We may not be _in _love, but there's no doubt that we love each other. I can tell he wishes he could give me nicknames, but doesn't want to pressure me. It's endearing in a way I can't quite explain.

"I'm… Peeta… I'm pregnant." And just like that, he's sobbing mercilessly into my neck, his hands pressed against my stomach. I scowl as the tears involuntarily leak from my eyes, because I have yet again tainted another moment that should be wonderful for him. Marrying and having kids should be joyous and wonderful, not riddled with lies and threats and fear.

"You're pregnant," He echoes, his voice in shatters. I feel my hands covering his, my head tipping back into his chest as I sob. I'm pregnant. And in thirteen years, our baby will die.

Only thirteen years.

_**The Letter**_

Snow falls thickly as I flip pancakes in a pan, something Peeta taught me to do almost three years ago, before our daughter was born. She just turned two a few months ago. When I was pregnant with her, we decided we would give her as wonderful and untainted a life as possible (though we'll train her regularly), until the very day she went into the games.

This, we said, meant things like picnics by the lake and pancakes every Sunday morning. It's a relatively new thing to me, having a thriving family safe from starvation and poverty, but over the last few years I've gotten comfortable with it. Even being a mother, which I was convinced I would be rotten at, has come naturally. Sometimes I can almost forget that my wonderful little girl will never see nineteen.

That Snow looms over us like a permanent storm cloud that never seems to deteriorate. I can almost believe that we're a normal family, because with the arrival of our daughter, something was stirred in Peeta and I. I find myself okay with foolish nicknames and unnecessary touching. Off camera affection has become one of my favorite things.

Suddenly, there's an arm wrapping around my waist, and another tiny pair hugging my neck. "Morning mommy!" Danny whispers in my ear. I turn away from my work at the stove to gather her rapidly growing form in my arms. She looks at me with Peeta's gorgeous blue eyes, framed by brown waves of hair. Freckles dot her cheeks, her skin a mix between fair and tan.

"Hi baby girl," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before leaning over her head to kiss Peeta as well. He smiles against my lips. "You should probably fix the pancakes," I tell him, carrying Danny over to a chair and leaving him to deal with the burning breakfast. Hard as I try, I can never get them right.

He chuckles; adding a variety of knew ingredients in an attempt to salvage them from the mess I've made. There's a knock on the door, and I balance Danny carefully on my hip before making a beeline towards the door. Prim stands on the other side, holding a carefully wrapped dish of scrambled eggs.

After the wedding she and my mother were allowed to keep the house, as it wouldn't go well with the Capital citizen's if they were forced to move back to the Seam. Prim, now eighteen, reopened my grandparent's old apothecary shop for the public. My mother works there as well, helping to treat the sick in a more accessible way than before.

"Auntie Prim!" Danny cheers, struggling towards her in my arms. I set her on the ground, and she instantly crushes herself to Prim's legs. I take the plate and watch briefly as Prim lifts her from the ground and places kiss after kiss to her pudgy cheeks. If there's one thing Danny with never lack: it's love.

"Little Dandelion! How are you?" Prim asks, holding the squealing toddler above her head. I wistfully remember that she won't be able to do that in a few years, with Danny's aging. She's getting bigger with every passing month, proven by the chart we keep etched into the wall beside the kitchen door.

My mother appears a moment later, and Danny's joyful screams grow even louder as she discards her coat on the hook by the door.

"Grandma!" Danny squeals with uninhibited two year old glee at the woman she sees in such a heartwarming light, and it's impossible not to feel the same. My daughter will never have to know of what mother did to her Auntie Prim and I in the past- only the vibrant and joyful woman she is now, as a grandma, mother-in-law, and successful healer. There isn't a shadow of the empty shell I grew up with anywhere to be found.

"Danny!" She says, with equal exuberance, and takes my baby from Prim. I leave them to their moment, wrapping Prim in a tight hug and guiding her towards the kitchen with an arm over her shoulder. She tells me excitedly of all the good their doing at the shop, and how she's met a boy from the town named Jerome, who helps his parents run the sweet shop.

"He brings me peppermints every day at five." She whispers, her cheeks heating up, and I get the idea that I'm the first person she's told. I smile down at my Little Duck, not quite so little anymore. We enter the kitchen, and I place the eggs on the table. Peeta abandons his cooking for a moment to greet my sister.

"Hi, Primmy," He says, and she laughs at the nickname he gave her when we returned from the games. Peeta kisses the top of her blonde head, before releasing her and heading back to his pancakes. They smell good once more, unlike the crisp burning wafting through the air before they came down.

My mother appears a moment later, and Peeta greets her the same way he did Prim, if acting a little more dignified. It's only then that I notice her arms suspiciously absent of an overwhelming presence. Fear grips my heart for a split second. "Mom?" I ask warily, eyeing the kitchen, "Where's Dandelion?" I can't disguise the tension in my voice.

"Cool it, Sweetheart- she's with me," A gruff voice fills the room, and I turn to find a sober Haymitch standing in the kitchen archway, my toddler in one arm, a plate of toast in the other. I almost visibly sigh with relief.

Danny giggles at Haymitch, who looks at his goddaughter lovingly, almost as though he's forgotten her inevitable fate as well. But I can see in his hands, which seem to tighten protectively around her, that he knows just as well as Peeta and I do that every moment with her safely among us is precious. He even helps train her with knives, which she has now grown old enough to learn the basics of. This basically means holding one in the correct direction. As in, not by the blade. She sure gave Peeta a scare that day.

"You have mail," He mutters, not bothering to look up from Danny as he slaps it onto the table. She hollers wildly as he swings her above his head, looking the happiest I've seen him in a while. Danny has changed something in him, made him happier and less gruff. He hardly drinks anymore.

I absentmindedly scroll through the stack- some updates from Finnick and Johanna, respectively, about life (which I get weekly), and other useless spam. Then I stop at a cream colored envelope, with the Capital seal smoothly pressed onto it. My fingers instantly tighten around it. One glance from Peeta, who's seen it too, and we hastily excuse ourselves from the family.

Once we reach the bedroom, I instantly sit on the edge of the bed. Peeta sits behind me, arms encircling my waist as he looks over my shoulder. Taking a deep breath, I rip it open. A single page letter rests inside, handwritten in black ink.

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Mellark, _

_Congratulations on Dandelion Mellark's second birthday. Many fans here in the Capital think parenthood becomes both of you quite well. So much so, that they are eager to know when the next Mellark will arrive. Soon, I presume? There's an announcement broadcasting in three months. I hope to deliver the news then, along with my other updates. _

_How are the cousins, Mrs. Mellark? Your sister and mother? And the brothers, Mr. Mellark? Your dear old father? Fellow Victor Haymitch? I do hope this year is as kind to them as the last year was. Don't you? Best regards on your upcoming pregnancy, and the health of your beautiful little girl. It would be a shame to see her falter under unexpected circumstances so young, wouldn't it?_

_But not to worry, I'm sure she's quite well. I can't wait to see all __**four **__you at the fast approaching games. Best wishes._

_Sincerely,  
President Snow_

And just like that, the ground falls through beneath our feet once more.

_**The Peace**_

"MOOOOMMM!" Orion's voice rises above the cracking thunder and pounding rain, breaching the darkness with hysterical shrieks. I'm out of bed in a flash, scrambling for clothes, and dashing towards my four year old's bedroom door. He thrashes wildly in his bed as lightning illuminates the room, huddling at the headboard in the corner of the wall.

"Mommy?" He whispers, fearfully, and my heart clenches at my baby's pain. I cross to his bed and pull the comforter away from his head, gathering his shaking form in my arms.

"What is it, baby?"

He whimpers, a single tear streaming down his dimpled cheek. "Thunder." He whispers, burying his neck in my shoulder. I hold him close, running my hand through his blonde curls absentmindedly, straining for an idea.

"Do you want to come into mommy and daddy's room for the night?" I feel him nodding against my neck, and I sigh inwardly, because this could've been a lot worse. Holding him against my hip, I carry him into the hallway and down towards our room. Suddenly, the door to Danny's room opens, and her small six year old form stands there. Her stuffed bunny dangles by the ear from one hand, the other stretching to reach the brass doorknob above her.

"Mommy? Can I come too?" She whispers, and I smile down at her, offering my free hand. Once we reach the door, I instruct them to stay there for a moment, before tip toeing in to rouse Peeta.

"Peeta? Wake up." He starts, looking around bewilderedly, before his eyes settle on me. "Put some clothes on, we're having company tonight."

I toss his boxers and sweatpants at him. He looks confused, but puts them on anyway, and I call the kids in. Orion has one thumb firmly planted in his mouth as he flies across the room and scrambles into the bed, ducking under the covers. Danny follows with a somewhat more timid approach, as though the monsters under the bed were going to jump out and bite her if she weren't vigilant enough.

I cross the floor and scoop her into my arms, dropping her onto the bed next to her father, who's already asleep again. His arm instantly encircles her, because even subconsciously he knows when his little girl is near and in need of protecting. I slide in on Orion's opposite side, so both kids are between their parents. He snuggles to my side, one hand on my braid, the other in his mouth. My free hand reaches across both small forms to find Peeta's hand, and twine our fingers together.

Despite the raging storm again; it's peaceful.

_**Ages 7 and 9**_

I sit with Peeta on the porch swing, feet tucked in, and his arm around my shoulders- not to differently than the post-game interview with Caesar. Haymitch chases Danny around the yard, and Prim is dancing near a small compact stereo with Orion- teaching him some of the old steps of our district.

My mother knits on a picnic blanket in the grass, and Prim's husband Rory sits with their two year old twins Azalea and Heath. Her belly is already distended slightly with a third, but not the point where it's too noticeable yet. She's glowing with happiness.

Both of her children have completely different features, but they're completely at home in the merchant section of the district, where they live above the apothecary. I am not resentful of this in any way, because it just means they'll grow up having a better lifestyle than we did.

The rest of the Hawthorne's have stopped by today as well. Hazelle is with my mother. Posy, now sixteen, and Vick are mirroring Prim and Orion's steps nearby. Gale sits with Rory, his niece in his lap. Her wavy blonde hair is matted against his chest, and her tiny fingers grasp his larger ones playfully as she looks at him with wide grey eyes. From across the green, he smiles at me. Ever since Prim married Rory we had reevaluated our friendship, especially now that we're siblings-in-law.

Though he never found love with a woman, he did adopt a child from the Community Home. She was just a baby then, though now she's ten years old. Her name is Dahlia, for a flower his father told him grew many miles from here to the south. She, despite not being blood related, has the Seam look like him, though her skin is slightly fairer than his. She's joined in on Danny and Haymitch's game.

It seemed right, to be related to Gale through our younger siblings. To share blood, for once, through the twins. The 'cousin' rumor was dispelled years ago, after 'someone' told some sources that it was only created because of some false documents accidently provided during my games. This happened, of course, through Snow who told me by phone that he had heard of my sister's relationship with Rory- which happened shortly after she broke up with Jerome because of her feelings for him- and decided that because of my success in stopping the revolution, he would allow them their untainted happiness.

It might've been the first time I was glad for my actions in a while. I never told Prim all of this- really the only part about the false documentation and shattered rumor. She was so happy. Not two months later they were married and living above the apothecary. When their children grow older they're planning on relocating to my old house here in Victor's Village for some extra room. Also, Prim told me, because she thinks our mother could use a full home once more.

Besides, all the kids love their grandmother. I stand from my seat beside Peeta and head over to the babies, dodging a wild spin from Orion, who is turning out to be a very good dancer, taking a seat beside Gale and pulling Heath into my lap. He stares at me with wide blue eyes, and I run a hand through his dark curls absentmindedly.

"Hey, Catnip." I smile, glancing at the dancing, where Rory's playfully trying to cut in on Orion and Prim's dance. "Hi."

He chews his lip thoughtfully; eye's tracking his daughter as she runs. Her long brown hair flies in two braids behind her, skirt billowing in the wind. I know they go hunting every weekend, when Gale has time off in the mines. He was promoted a few years ago, putting him above ground as a monitor, which I was thrilled about. All of his family is safe from the mines, with Rory running the apothecary with Prim. They even hired Vick there to ensure his safety. Posy is still young enough that they only worry about her on Reaping Day. I shudder at the thought of Reaping Day, where I'll once again have to drag my whole family to the Capital. At least the kids enjoy the company of other Victors.

Finnick loves Danny, carrying her around the control room on his shoulders and taking her down to the recreation pool to swim with her. She learned the basics from me at our lake, but Finnick is the expert. Johanna has taken to Orion wonderfully, and they often cruise from room to room 'checking in' one everyone, before they head down to the training center after it's been emptied to practice with knives and axes.

Even Cashmere and Enorbaria love to do Danny's hair in all kinds of intricate braids and fashions, and I can almost see the wistful look in their eyes as they work through her strands of hair with deft and practiced fingers. Still, I can't pity them. Danny will never survive all the Reaping's intact. Brutus and Gloss love to teach Orion new techniques with various weapons and my son sure does enjoy their company, something I never really thought possible.

When I first met them they all seemed so gruff and heartless, but the arrival of my children seems to have brought out a softer, compassionate side. It has also allowed me to see that they, like Peeta and I, are just people that have been forced (with the exception of some careers) into an unpleasant situation.

It made than fractionally more human, into something other than bloodthirsty monsters. She felt bad for them- all of them. How could anyone have known that the lucky ones are the ones that don't make it out? Even now, when everything seems blissfully wonderful, something is wrong. Because in just three years, Danny will be eligible for the games. And what is more dramatic than the child of not one, but two Victors- the Star Crossed Lovers, no less- being chosen for the games?

I glance once at Danny, who has collapsed onto the grass and is screaming wildly as Haymitch mercilessly tickles her. Dahlia is nearby, laughing at the scene before her, and Gale's eyes follow her like a hawk as he absentmindedly bounces Azalea on his knee.

Our niece. It's weird to have such a personal relation attached to both our names. We really are family now. Sometimes I just can't grasp it, despite all the evidence lying in front of me. "What's on your mind?" I ask, running my fingers through Heath's curls.

"Just thinking… about the future."

I glance up at him, my hold on Prim's son tightening ever so slightly. There's no need to ask what he's talking about. It could only be the games, and how they lie uncertainly in the future.

"I keep remembering that Dahlia only has two years of absolute safety left. Once her name is in that Reaping Bowl, I can't protect her anymore." He looks pained, as though just the thought of being unable to protect Lia is eating him inside out. Gale loves her, more than he's loved anyone.

I place my hand on his arm and give it a gentle squeeze. "Gale… she won't have any tesserae. We'll make sure of it. The odds are slim. And, if by some chance, she does get chosen… Peeta and I will do everything in our power to make sure she comes out. We'll get her home."

He looks from me, to Dahlia, to the twins, to Danny and Orion, then back to me. "Can you say the same for your own kids?"

I know he already knows the answer. And looking at my two beautiful children, everything I've tried to ignore while raising them comes flooding back to the surface. Three years and my Danny will be taken from me. A few more and Orion goes as well.

We'll be left with nothing.

_**The First Reaping**_

I knock gently on Danny's door, pushing it open slightly. She stands before the mirror Peeta nailed to her wall, absentmindedly running her hands over the smooth cotton fabric of her Reaping dress. It's a light blue material that looks striking against her skin tone.

She looks up when I enter, and the light freckles that cover her face gleam in the sunlight. "Mom," She says softly, "Can you braid my hair? Like yours?"

My heart nearly melts, and I move to her bed, gently patting the space on the quilt beside me. Her hair has grown long and thick, and she's inherited some of Peeta's curls, though they're more like waves. I run my fingers through them, memorizing every strand as though it will be the last time. This is foolish, because she'll be coming to the Capital with me no matter what. It's just how she'll be coming- as a Victor's daughter, or as a tribute.

I hope desperately for the first one.

It doesn't take long to shape her hair into a long thick braid down her back and tie it off at the end. "Thank you," She whispers, before turning around and wrapping her arms fiercely around my neck. I pull her small body close, willing myself not to cry. This could very well be the beginning of the end, though, and I'm determined not to let another second go by improperly.

Too soon, she's pulling away and scrutinizing herself in the mirror once more. "Now I look like you," She whispers, fingering the braid, before turning and marching swiftly out the door. I glance distantly at myself, in a simple green dress and common side braid, before following her downstairs.

Peeta and Orion are already waiting in the hallway, my son looking like the spitting image of his father. I pat his unruly curls lovingly and give Peeta a lingering kiss. There are no elongated sounds of dissent from the kids this time because they know as well as I do how precious the moments leading up to the Reaping are.

I take Orion's hand safely in my own, and we make our way to the square. Behind me, I can hear Peeta murmuring comforting words to Danny. When we finally do part ways, I make sure she's safely with Dahlia, give her a linger hug, and drag the rest of my family to the stage.

And for the next hour: I hold my breath.

But, in the end, it is not Danny that will travel as tribute. It is someone I don't know. Which, as I exchange a confused but relieved glance with Peeta, makes me wonder: what is Snow thinking?

_**Ages 14 and 16**_

We have been too lucky. Year after year our entire family, which has grown enormously in size thanks to Posy and Vick marrying and having children, slips by unscathed. Now, as I watch Effie slip her hand into the glass bowl, which holds the fate of so many young men, I can't help but wonder, as I do every year.

_Will this be the year? _

It isn't.

_**Ages 16 and 18**_

Danny is so close to being safe. It almost seems to perfect. To have her make it through every time, only to be chosen when she is so close to freedom.

Is that his angle? To give us just enough false hope, that we're caught off guard? Dahlia has made it through. That marks the first on a very long list of children. Next year, both Azalea and Heath will be eligible. Will they be okay?

I watch my daughter in the crowd, so brave and strong. She glances at a boy, Aspen, and he blows her a kiss. So in love. Is Snow waiting for her to fall in love? Is he going to pick them both?

What a twist that would be. The Star Crossed Lover's daughter going in with her own Star Crossed Lover. Right when they were eighteen.

Peeta's hand finds mine, and gives it a gentle squeeze. By the time I've managed to refocus on the Reaping, Danny is safe: permanently.

Once more squeeze and both Orion and Aspen are safe as well.

What's going on?

_**Ages 17 and 19**_

"Now, for the boys!" Effie, who still looks the same as she did all those years ago, when I was only sixteen cheers with the same exuberance as always. I glance at all the people we could lose this year: Orion, Azalea, and Heath. My breath catches in my throat.

Three people is so much more than it seems, especially when you have everything to lose.

Peeta interlocks our fingers as Effie reads the name aloud.

"Orion Mellark!"

And just like that: the world fades to black.


End file.
